Northrend (The Old Lordaeron Archive)
Story The snowstorm was chilling down to the bone, and could have made anyone to turn back the way they came from. But he was not just anyone, he was the Patriarch of Lordaeron. Far away from his barren homeland, on a mission of great importance. He knew that he himself was replacable, while his duties and the task that was appointed to him were not. The future of the forsaken, and perhaps even the future of all things mortal, were at risk. Lately the Lich King had sent out his armies to wipe all life out of the face of Azeroth, to finish what he started out with the plague. Much of what was once called the Northrend had been erased and replaced by a plagued land that radiated a taited undead aura. Nothing grew on that island anymore, it was but a wasteland of snow, ice and death. Entire villages had been swept away by the Scourge, and nothing was the same anymore. Northrend was now the citadel of the Lich King. A frozen citadel, to be exact, for it appears that the whole island had just recently been caught by a very powerful blizzard. Where there used to be a flourishing tree few years ago, now stood a block of ice. And it was not just the trees and plants that had been frozen. Dozens of frozen corpses of men, women and children could be seen everywhere. The Patriarch had not come alone, for he had several allies. They were the servants of the Argent Dawn, the one who had sent them on their mission. The Argent Dawn was a sacred order devoted to cleanse the land of the evil Scourge and it's master, the Lich king. While an ignorant person would have said that the Dawn was on a crusade against the undead, the truth was completely different. Some of the most vigorous defenders of the Dawn were undead, including the Patriarch himself. While most of the humans could not make a difference between the Scourge and the Forsaken, the Dawn had made it very clear, that no Forsaken carrying their tabard should ever be harmed. The Argent Dawn was a most unusual alliance between the undead and the living. "There, I can see the foul Frozen Throne!" yelled the night elven scout, that was walking in front of the group. "Great, perhaps we can finally get to behead that bloody walking skeleton-man, and get rid of these smelly corpses we had to take with us." grunted an annoyed dwarf, that was wading in the waist-deep snow. "Insult these poor cursed souls no more, my dear bearded friend. I am sure their souls are tormented enough already. Let us be kind to those who have been less fortune." answered the venerable man, who was wearing nothing but an old ragged robe on him. "The Light shall redeem those who seek the atonement with a pure spirit." he added. The Patriarch followed the other agents of the Argent Dawns calmly, paying no attention to their opinions. He knew that they were blinded by their own faith and prejustice and that they were the cursed ones. In death he had come to understand the vanity of his own mortal existance and the mistakes he had done in the past. Suddenly he sensed that something was very wrong. He possessed a considerable amount of arcane knowledge that would only dimish to the amount of extra-dimension knowledge he had. After all, he was a soulhunter and a demon caller. A warlock, as the mortals say. He sensed a strong demonic presence all over the place. All out of sudden a loud tearing sound exploded throughout the Northrend. The sky went red as blood and clouds began shifting. First the clouds were moving slowly, but the pace kept increasing and the clouds seemed to form a vortex of some kind. In no time the sky was one gargatuan infernal vortex, swirling faster and faster all the time. "What cursed trickery this be?" shouted the dwarf, trying to make his voice heard over the roaming noise of the vortex. "The Legion" answered the Patriarch, still remaining calm and emotionless, raising his finger to point at the vortex and the rest of the party were stunned in terror. The sky rained fire and molten masses of rock. The Frozen wasteland began to smelt, as the fiery rain hit the ground igniting small sparkling fires. The Frozen scenenary was nothing more than a scorched wasteland in a matter of minutes. Soon the molten masses began reforming into gigantic humanoid-forms that stood five to eight metres high. They were infernals. Once several dozens of these infernals had been reformed, they began besieging the Frozen Throne. As it seemed that the citadel of Frozen Throne was quickly being torn apart by the invaders, the Scourge reminded them of why the whole known world of Azeroth was afraid of them. First, hundreds of undead corpses began clawing their way through the ground, surprising their enemy from beneath. Soon, their numbers grow to thousands, as more and more long dead warriors joined their forces to serve their one true master. In no time, the battlefield was swarming with undead creatures that were clawing and biting the gigantic inferals. While the Scourge had the benefit of numbers, the infernals were not enemies to be taken lightly. Being molten mass, they were not harmed by the vicious claws and diseases these undead creatures used as their weapons. "So this is why the Scourge withdrew from the main land. They are being sundered by the Burning Legion." stated the Patriarch. "Oh, I guess we be lucky then, eh?" grumbled the dwarf. "Lucky? Oh, luck has no part in this. The Scourge invasion left the Frozen Throne undefended, and the Legion wanted to take advantage of that. They will fight each other for now, but soon they will notice that it will prove useless. They both have access to nearly limitless resources. Soon they will both turn their eyes upon us, and that is when you are going to need all the luck you can get." "If you speak the truth, Patriarch, these are ill omens indeed. We should get back to warn the Dawn and the Cathedral right away." said the venerable priest grimly. "I think we are going to need one of your portals, mage." said the Patriarch to an another Forsaken. The Mage nodded and quickly draw few runes into the air, and in a blink of an eye they were back at the Chapel of Light. "Patriarch, ye be knowing this. We might have been sharing a common goal back there, but back here... we dwarves are going to be after ye once more. We'll not tolarate any of ye wretched kind here, undead. Ye understand what me be saying?" sayed the dwarf, while waving his axe at Zargoth. Zargoth gave a grim look upon the dwarf: "If you wish to challenge the Lordaeron, I will be waiting for you there. Mage, take us to Lordaeron." "Ye be not Lordaeron!" yelled the dwarf angrily, but the Patriarch was already gone.